haebin | Sharing: The Mistress of the Shadowland; The next Chapter

It is sunday and that means it is time for a new chapter. ♥

Chapter 8: Expectations

Summary: Trálír unexpectedly meets Anwyn's father, who immediately asks him to make a decision. But is this in Anwyn's best interests?

Thick and gloomy clouds hung over the sky while the wind blew brutally across the Blackwater Bay, tearing many a tree root from the ground. The storm forced the inhabitants of the Land to retreat to the safety of their homes and caves.
But Trálír strode across the castle courtyard towards the stables with clenched teeth. Anger flared within him and every word his father had said, every word Anwyn had belittled, fed a rage that almost consumed him.
This kind of wrath was new to Trálír, for in all his years there had been nothing that had meant as much to him as this young woman.
He opened the stable door and threw it shut angrily behind him, causing some of the horses to whinny nervously and increase their already existing fear of the storm. Trálír walked through the large stall to Fairre, who was sitting in a corner on a bale of hay, cleaning a horse's halter. When he heard Trálír's footsteps, he looked up in surprise.

"I'm riding out," the elf said, his voice tense. The old man was about to say something when Trálír raised his hand and beat him to it. "Yes, I know, it is storming. I am well aware of that."
Fairre closed his mouth again and nodded slowly. He stood up, put the halter on the hay bale and then walked towards Arod's box.
Trálír watched the stable master as the rage inside him continued to build.
He had to leave this castle now, because if he stayed here a moment longer, near his father, he would do or say things he would certainly regret.
As the Firstborn looked to the side and spotted an old, faded cloak hanging over a horse stall, he grabbed it and put it around his shoulders. Trálír walked then over to Fairre, who had already saddled the stallion.
When the stable master saw his used cloak on him, he asked in an unsettled voice: "Master?"
"I'm just borrowing it," Trálír replied and grabbed Arod's reins to lead him out of the stall. "You'll get it back."

And with these words, he led the stallion out of the stable, swung himself into the saddle and rode at a gallop with Arod through the storm.
It was as if the horse sensed his master's anger as he galloped impetuously through the large castle gate, which was guarded by two soldiers on each side, out onto the long bridge that rose almost a hundred meters above the waves breaking on the shore. The steady rhythm of the galloping stallion brought Trálír's thoughts back to the conversation he had with his father.
Or had to, Trálír thought with his lips pressed together.
Who in all the nine hells could have known that he had feelings for Anwyn? And above all, who could have spread those rumors? Teárlach? Even though he had made him understand that he had not been the source of this gossip? Had he lied? Had his younger brother made fun of his feelings again and mentioned it to others?

Trálír pulled gently on the reins and indicated to Arod that he could switch to a trot. During the somewhat slower ride, he looked out over the storm-tossed sea and asked himself more questions
What would happen now that his father knew he had fallen in love with Anwyn? Of course Trálír had denied this, claiming it was only about physical desire, but the ruler of the Blackwater Lands knew his firstborn only too well.
Would Tralir, the elder, now take every opportunity to make fun of his heir and his feelings? Would he send one of his soldiers to the village to find out more about this „human“?
The Firstborn was very well aware about the fact that he could not trust his father ... and he knew from past experience that morality or justice did not matter to him. Especially when it came to his human and half-elf inhabitants. Locals had been thrown into the castle dungeons for looking at the ruler at the wrong moment. What would happen to Anwyn, who had fallen in love with him, an elf?

It was just impossible for him to explain how his secret could be revealed.
There were always rumors about elves and their human lovers - if an elf cared that much about his counterpart - but to know that he, Trálír the Firstborn, had fallen in love? Anwyn and he had only met in the forest or at her home, apart from the ride and the attack that followed. Who could have seen them?
A human from the village? A wood elf? Some other creature ... or was there something darker that had its eyes on him and Anwyn?
Trálír saw Anwyn's home in the distance and Arod immediately fell into step as if he knew they were not far from their destination.
All he wanted now was to hold her in his arms. He didn't want to think about the hidden danger that emanated from his father, about the duties he had, about the throne he would eventually have to take over.
The Firstborn only wished for the chance to listen to her soft voice, to look into her eyes, to feel her fingers gliding through his hair.
Trálír wanted to forget everything, leaving everything behind him while he was to explore her mouth with his. He wished to see Anwyns chest rise and fall quickly with desire and he longed to feel her warmth.

For the last three days, his father had been particularly careful to watch and monitor his every move.
No matter where Trálír was, it didn't take long for his father to appear. It didn't matter whether it was in the stables, during his daily sword training with the other soldiers or during the endless hours he spent learning about Faerún's elven history.
Was that the reason why he had always kept an eye on Trálír? The knowledge that his heart belonged to a human?
And would his father do the same now? Would he have him followed to see where his son rode?
Trálír glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him, but he couldn't recognize somebody.
Arod suddenly stopped and her looked ahead, for the stallion was now standing in the small courtyard. He patted the horse's neck gratefully, dismounted him and led him to the sheltered side of the stable.
As Trálír turned and walked towards the small house, he called Anwyn's name, but nothing but silence greeted him. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Anwyn, are you home?" the High elf asked into the silence and stopped hesitantly. The few seconds felt like half an eternity to him until the door opened. But it was not Anwyn who appeared inside.

*****

"Well, you seem to be the reason my child has been keeping some secrets from me over the last few weeks?"
Trálír stopped immediately when he saw the older man standing in the front door of the house. He knew instantly that he was facing Anwyn's father.
The fisherman was taller than his daughter, almost as tall as Trálír himself.
His body was lean, almost emaciated, but the elf suspected that the older man was more muscular than he appeared due to years of hard work at sea.
His gaze slid to the man's hands and he noticed the swollen finger joints Anwyn had told him about and her daily struggle to relieve her father's pain. He knew from some elven healers that these were symptoms of arthritis or rheumatism and that there was no cure but only an attempt to make the pain bearable.
Years of working at sea and exposure to the constant sunshine had left the old fisherman's skin leathery but his light blue eyes formed a strong contrast to the darker skin tone which made them shine.
His shoulder-length gray hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and he wore a thick tunic and trousers of dark brown wool. Leather boots that must have seen better days reached up to his calves. Trálír knew that Anwyn and her father were far from living a comfortable life and that daily existence could be a struggle, but he didn't look ashamed of his humble existence. Anwyn's father stood tall before him, chin up, the pride of a hardworking man in his gaze. He was not ashamed to face a nobleman.
And the way Trálír looked at the fisherman, he did the same.

Anwyn's father looked at the young elf, scrutinizing his tall and slender figure, the narrow, expressive face that clearly showed his noble lineage. His eyes were the color of the storm-tossed sea that Doran knew only too well.
He wore his long black hair half-open and the elf was dressed in the finest fabrics, his black suede trousers embroidered on the side with a dark gray floral pattern.
His tunic, also black, had similar embroidery, which led Doran to conclude that his clothes had cost more than what he could sell at the market in weeks.
Still, he was surprised to see that the plaid cloak he was wearing looked old and faded. How did this fit together? Was this a cover to avoid being seen?
Both men measured each other in silence for a few seconds.
Trálír noticed the lump forming in his throat, for he had no idea what to say or how to behave. How was he supposed to find a way to start this conversation?
Should he talk to the old fisherman about his work? What fish he had caught? Or should he talk about the weather? The firstborn could hardly begin about Anwyn and his feelings for her.
He could face his own father, but this man, the father of the girl who was so dear to him?
Trálír tried desperately to find the right words but he couldn't find a way to express his feelings.
Everything in his mind was a mess, so many thoughts that he couldn't capture in just one sentence.
Instead, he cleared his throat uncertainly and looked at Anwyn's father, who met his gaze with a stoic expression.

"Yes, I am," Trálír replied slowly, his voice sounding tense and unsure. The old man nodded and waited to see if the elf would say anything else, but he remained silent.
He saw his counterpart visibly struggling with himself, at a loss for words. Helplessness could be seen in his gaze.
"What is your name?" Doran asked the elf.
"Trálír," he replied and the fisherman raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Trálír? Son of Trálír, the Elder?"
His counterpart nodded slowly.
"Hm." Anwyn's Father sighed and his look was sorrowful.
"I don't know what your intentions are, Trálír, son of the Elder. But know that I will do anything to protect my daughter. I do not fear you or your kind and I will not allow you to harm my child in any way. And that includes a broken heart. If you lie to her to get under her skirts, I will chase you off this farm myself."
"No, it's not like that," Trálír replied, shaking his head. "Nothing could be further from my mind than hurting Anwyn."
Doran raised an eyebrow, suspicion etched on his weather-beaten face.
"I know that the relationship between elves and humans has been deteriorating for centuries and I also know that many of my race behave unfairly and arrogantly towards humans."
His voice sounded apologetic.
"I don't know how I could convince you to believe that I am not like my race. My word would stand against the many offenses of my people," Trálír said quietly, his eyes downcast.
He stood silently opposite the old fisherman until he spoke to him.
"I trust my child," he said. "If Anwyn has lost her heart to you, there will be a reason for it."
Doran saw the elf breathe a sigh of relief.
"And yet, does Anwyn know who you really are?"
Trálír shook his head slowly and avoided Doran's gaze, who sighed heavily.
"You know that your love will have no future?"
The Ruler's son looked down at the ground while a deep pain showed on his face and Anwyn's father realized that the elf knew this only too well.

"Whatever decision you make, it will never be in favor of my daughter. If you have the insane idea of choosing Anwyn, she will always be considered inferior in the eyes of your people. No one will treat her with respect, hardly a friendly word will be exchanged with her. And our kind? They will despise her and they will not hesitate to show their contempt for her. People will treat her with suspicion because she has given her heart to an elf, calling her a whore whenever they see her. Whatever you will do, even if it comes from a pure heart, my daughter will suffer. Do you really think your love will protect her from all of the Hate she will experience? From all the tears she will shed night after night?"
Trálír's eyes widened at the old man's words, deep sorrow evident in his gaze.
"Whatever decision you make, Trálír, it will break Anwyn's heart," her father continued heartlessly. And although his words were as merciless as a deep stab into the elf's heart, Doran spoke the truth.
And Trálír knew this as well and the suffering and danger that came with it.
This knowledge tormented him deeply.

"But..." Trálír broke off and looked to the ground again. His voice was almost a whisper. "But we are already … in Love … " His Voice cracked. Agony could be heard in it.
"All you are doing is prolonging the foreseeable suffering in the future. With every moment you spend together, she will fall more for you ... and when you abandon her, you leave my daughter behind with a broken heart from which she will probably never recover. Whether you leave her now or in a few weeks doesn't matter. She will suffer. Your task should be to end it now and stop letting her hope for a future together that will never come true."
Trálír raised his eyes and looked at the old man, his gaze clouded with deep anguish.
The silence between the two men weighed heavily.
"You are free to wait in the house for Anwyn," said Doran and looked at Trálír, who immediately knew what he was alluding to. He looked for a decision from him and he had made it clear what he expected from the heir to the Blackwater Lands. Everything in Trálír wanted to oppose this, but the knowledge of the truth of his words weighed heavily.
The fact that his father never let him out of his sight and the knowledge that his son was seeing a human woman would put Anwyn in danger sooner or later. He didn't trust his family, neither his father nor his own brother, who seemed to know more than he was letting on. Teárlach's knowledge also worried Trálír.
He knew of his curiosity, knew of the dark desires that dwelled within him. Was Anwyn safe in his brother's presence?
Was he putting the woman he had fallen so deeply in love with in danger?

Trálír looked at Doran.
„So, you expect me to...“
„Yes, I do“, the fisherman replied with a nod.
"What about you?" he asked in a low voice.
"Well, the storm has abated," Anwyn's father replied, pointing to the wooden stool standing next to the door. "I'll wait here in front of the house. The little bit of wind won't bother me."
Then he sat down and gazed silently at the sea while Trálír entered the house next to him in silence.